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Ephemeral Delusion

Saturday, December 27, 2008, 6:23 PM

WANDERLUST

Beveled and matted, this is how these photos talk. Now who says that only the black and whites can capture the soul?

My little decoy, this is the story she is going to tell. She has the prettiest black eyes, long brown hair, slightly wavy, a hint of platinum blonde in streaks of twos and threes, an adorable little cleaved chin. Her features are big, big yet gentle, humongous yet soft. This is the contradictory about her, sometimes it seems like things are unarguably right; but may not always be the case is it not? What do they know about her taste? There’s always this thing about the way she walks that made people sniff a giggle, not to ridicule her but to only to tease innocently; how could a girl like her give such masculine vibe in those tight dresses and heels. Let alone the sight as she lean against the wall with a cigarette resting between her slightly parted chapped lips, solitary she stood with her arms crossed in front of her chest, slouching beside the railing breathing the morning breeze. People waking up and doing their chores, yet no one noticed of her, because she is good at hiding and deceiving; now how evil can someone be as they attain the supremacy to lie without blinking, no matter how you try to you can never seems to see through her. Was there a soul to begin with, did she sell hers away like Dorian Gray?

Something peculiar happened one night, when people sang “its so beautiful I want cry”, this was exactly that queer feeling she had. Prior to the rush, that adrenaline surge which perhaps was the best she ever had, as she looked into those eyes, she felt as though she could see her own soul in that sheer pitch darkness. What was it again? It was comparably an epitome of a cloud nine experience which she never thought it could have existed, fallen from the sky like a gift from the Lord. She dragged her whole body up as high as she could, try to go with the flow, and then it struck. Like as though Big Ben has struck, everything doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Those neurones began random firing of electrical pulses across from the toes all the way up and driving straight to her head. The surge of hormones and electricity; this shock, is too much to take, as the noises around her went silent, except for that humming voice erupting from deep down her ear drums they began to vibrate. Slowly and softly at first; like that of a mother whisking flour and egg mixture to prepare to bake a cake for her husband’s birthday; before gaining speed and momentum, humming and singing that same chord of lyrics again, when is it going to stop? She could see those lips move, but she can’t make out what they’re saying. It was silence still, and without any warning, pleasure and pain were gone and those tears rushed out of her eyes.

She lost all her sensation after that; amongst the numbness for a sound, all she could hear was “Where were you?” It didn’t bother her much from that onwards, as she half heartedly push the roller coaster off the highest peak down the track, in one clean swift move. That was it, and now it is over. Could she ever look at this with the same light again? Were the tears shed to bid her goodbye? This could mean the end of her present life, the beginning of a new journey for her; yes she is scared, who wouldn’t be? We are all afraid of the unknown, nevertheless how brave she though she was, how ready she was, it doesn’t matter, for the pit lying ahead looks deep and grossly misdemeanours. Whose face was it that she saw in the pit? Was it the same face imprinted on the voice before the revelation, the Big Ben?

She is shivering in fear now, those big black eyes are trembling and screaming; I shall stop writing. Lest for the betterment of her health, lets not probe further; for maybe when she feels better tomorrow I shall make her talk again.

Maybe she will come to my window tomorrow.

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Thursday, December 11, 2008, 12:34 PM

Walk on By

“Some families are born, some families are made.”

I have been playing with the thought of women having babies without getting married for some time, at least not in that “legal” sense. Of course it is possible and perfectly acceptable in today’s society, as long as the mother has that capacity to single-handedly (not quite so?) raise the kid up. As I was having a causal browse in a bookstore a couple days ago I found this short story by a local writer about 2 amah-jies adopting a girl and bringing her up. It was a short yet touching story; be it the moral of the story was the girl regretting how she should had treated both of her aunts better only after they passed away, I was awed in amazement how they made it happen even in the early 1960s. Adopting a child was definitely possible, for the orphanages would be more than happy to embrace any kind souls that decides to give the child a proper home, yet the adoptee was upset, low on self esteem and well, a certain degree of hatred towards her “dysfunction” home. Perhaps as she grows older these questions confused her; isn’t a home supposed to make up of a dad, a mom and a child? Why does she have 2 mothers which she is only allowed to call “ku”?

This kind of family will demand reconsideration of a theory of oedipal development based on heterosexual parents. If triangulation, the move from dyadic to triadic object relationships will depend on 2 primary processes—the child's acceptance of the immutability of generations and the child's recognition that children are excluded from the world of adult matters—parental gender or in some other sense assumes less importance. The emergence of conscience from multifaceted processes of identification is consistent with this view of triangulation as a developmental phase. Perhaps along the time line, education by the parents plays a major role in determining how successful the upbringing will amount to; lest to the public pressure and ignorant question (that of course there is no such thing as a stupid question, just that they are easy to answer), those frustrations hurled towards the family; the neighbours, friends, even random strangers could prove lethal. Those might just be abominably gross and vulgar, yet undeniably inevitable of course.

Perhaps putting a flag outside the house might help?

Now we’re not just considering the fact that our social sigma does condemn a family with 2 mothers, it is really the sad truth single moms too get the stares, yes that stare. It definitely annoys the ass out of me, people that barely knew her; do they even know what she went through? Do they know how her life like was? Easy as it is to label and call people names, this still comes down to their etiquette. This is a personal problem you see. Think about being jeopardized, the humiliations; they out-rule every possible factors that was to begin with. Things that are illegal or maybe never to be made legalised, human rights, freedom of speech, etc; all these will take still take so much effort, more blood being shed, determination and resistance to endure. Thinking on the bright side, Obama becoming the first black president; rising of India and China in the global regime; in China today men are actually willing to marry into the bride’s family and carry their surname; it is just a matter of time where the long protested rights of humans – feminism or in where there had been a seemingly forever struggle and unrest, shall achieve ultimate liberation.

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